


Stunning Virtue

by GeminiLoveCA



Series: Virtue [1]
Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: BDSM themes, Dark fic, F/M, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 13:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5006527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeminiLoveCA/pseuds/GeminiLoveCA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marriage changes a man...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stunning Virtue

Edith had wept and sniffled all over me on the way to the study, clinging to my dressing gown so heavily it made me grateful for a lifetime of hard work, else I’d never have been able to support her frame the whole distance.

  
Ensconced in one of the great chairs by the fireplace, I wrapped her in a lap blanket and moved to stoke the embers up into a more reasonable flame. Her tears had stopped when I handed her a snifter nearly full with brandy, and she held it mutely until I encouraged her to take a sip. It was clear seeing her father’s body had come as a terrible shock. Not that I felt particularly guilty.

  
“I just don’t understand…” she muttered.

  
I knelt at her feet, all the better to discern her mental state. “Oh miss… If I may be impertinent, I don’t think we can ever understand why people are as they are, or do the things they do. But, I suppose… He was very devoted to your mother’s memory, and now with his only child about to marry and live so very far away…”  
Edith gaped at me, and I wondered for a moment if I had overstepped. She bolted from the chair so suddenly that her snifter overset and spilled along the body of her nightdress. “How dare you!”

  
“Edith, my darling, what a terrible, terrible shock,” Sir Thomas soothed as he closed the door behind himself. He crossed the room in long strides, taking the snifter from her hand and setting it aside before settling her back in her seat. He perched on the arm of her chair, her hand sandwiched between his. “I know Virtue’s words must have taken you aback, but I fear we have little other explanation.”

  
“No, my father would not take his own life. And to have it suggested by a.. a house maid.” The derision in her voice made me bristle.

  
“Now, now. Virtue may be employed by my family, but she’s lived in this house her entire life. She’s a trusted member of the household, wouldn’t you say, Lucille?”

  
I heard the rustle of Lucille’s dress as she passed me. She must have not been abed yet, because she was still buttoned up properly. “Absolutely. My brother and I have known Virtue since we were all children. Living so isolated here in the country, we tend to form a closer bond to our staff than what you would find in the city. Thus, they feel they can be a bit more liberal with their tongues.” She fixed me with a look before sliding in between me and Edith. At that, I chose to absent myself. If they wished to coddle the girl, that was their business, not mine.

  
~~~

  
The late Mr. Cushing continued to cause problems even after his coffin had been lowered into the boggy red earth. According to the rules of society, it was improper for Edith to remain living in the same house as her fiancé without her father. Likewise, it was improper for them to proceed with the marriage immediately. Edith was expected to remain secluded for at least six weeks, and wedding white went against all rules of deep mourning. Finally, it was decided that a much more sedate and somber wedding would be held after her seclusion, her dress altered to include a wide band of black crepe at the hem.

  
Dr. McMichael agreed to stay on as well, believing that his presence, as well as Lady Lucille’s, would provide the affianced pair at least some semblance of being chaperoned. Seeing as Edith refused to leave her room, it was not exactly a difficult duty. It certainly gave him enough time to sniff after a few skirts, including mine. And while the doctor was not as aggressive a lover as I was accustomed, he made up for it in anatomical knowledge. Still, by the time this wedding arrived, even I would be glad for it.

  
Instead of the family chapel, it was decided they would have the brief ceremony in the parlor. I watched from the very back, near the door. The household staff had been invited to attend, of course, for the most part. I and a few others had not - our presence required for last minute preparations. Still, I had found a way to steal away for a few moments to see the final vows. She looked wan and a little sad in the candlelight reflected around the room, but it was my Sir who held my attention so dearly.

How handsome he looked in his wedding suit! My dark god, my temptation. Despite all propriety, if he had asked, I would have knelt in worship to him in front of them all right then. My wicked fantasies gave way to foolish girlhood dreams, of being the one to stand beside him, in front of all, to pledge myself to him. Though I have given him my all, in every way, in private, to be the one to be there with him in public... oh. Even knowing it could not be, that all is as it must be, I felt some last vestige of my heart break. As he moved toward her to present her with a kiss of peace, I turned my head aside. I could not bear to see it.

It seemed I am not the only one. All those faces assembled, and yet... The good doctor wore his heart upon his sleeve, though when they turned back to the room, he had schooled his features into a much more appropriate expression. Before the new couple made their procession to the ballroom, I retreated further into the shadows. I was not swift enough to escape my Sir's notice and I saw his eyes flick to me for a brief instant before his lips quirked slightly and he began to thank his wellwishers.

I had not been tasked at serving during the wedding dinner, thankfully. Instead, I was sent above stairs, to assist the new mistress while she prepared for her wedding night. After she was bathed and gowned, I brushed her hair until it was loose and shining and golden over her shoulders, and retreated to a corner, tidying while she paced the room. She looked every inch the frightened sacrificial virgin, her wedding lingerie the few items of her wardrobe not dyed a hasty black. I had to bite my lip to keep my perverse glee from showing. Perhaps it was for the best that Sir had kept his darker nature apart from her. Knowing his animal desires as I did, she likely would die of fright alone before the morning.

"Is something amiss, my lady?" I asked, finally. "You seem troubled."

She jumped at the sound of my voice, as if I had faded into the background for her so completely that my speaking was as shocking as being questioned by the armoire. "Oh! Virtue, you startled me!" She still had not quite forgiven me for speaking “out of turn” after her father’s death, and I suspected that had much to do with her wishing me invisible.

I dipped my head. "My apologies, ma'am. You just seem a bit restless. Perhaps something to drink to ease your nerves?"

Edith shook out her hands, as if that motion would bring back blood and feeling to the fingers she had wrung as she crossed and recrossed the room. "I don't know why I'm so unsettled, Virtue, to be honest. I've read the medical texts. I know the process of..." she broke off, her face coloring, "Procreation."

I couldn't resist a snort, pouring a small brandy and handing it to Edith. "I've no idea what the books say, but I know my mum's lecture and the reality were far different."

Her nerves showed as she gulped the fiery spirit and coughed. "You've done..." She covered her lips, "You're so young. Don't you worry about the future? Men take virginity so seriously."

I laughed. "Men take female virginity seriously when it comes to their brides. Since I see no marriages in my future, it’s not much of an issue for me. And since I lost it so long ago, what good would it do me to wring my hands and mourn it? I’m better off without."

Edith gestured to the decanter, offering me my own glass. "Please, will you tell me? I've heard such conflicting things and I've no idea what to expect."

It took every bit of my patience not to walk out on the silly chit then and there. Really, I have to give the mother's speech to my lover's new wife? Could Fate be more cruel and twisted? Pain was a vitality to me, but this, was a pain not to be savored. Still… Pain is savored best when shared. I poured her another finger of brandy and sat beside her. "My mother said the act was a thing to be endured, to lie back and try not to be too frightened or to fight it, for the sooner he finished, the sooner I could move on with my life. In reality, I found most men prefer a more active participant in their bed, willing or not."

The look of abject horror in Edith's eyes gave me a perversely warm sensation in my belly. She looked ready to bolt, to throw herself from a window, and while I admit, that would be amusing to watch, it would derail all our careful planning. I patted her hand carefully. "I didn't meant to fright you, milady. I've no doubt Sir Thomas will be quite the gentleman in his lovemaking with you. Might be a bit of a twinge at first, not much worse than your monthlies. Then after..." I trailed off, glancing her way from the side of my vision.

Edith was leaned forward on the edge of her seat, her brandy glass tilted nearly to tipping the liquor into her lap. "After?"

"Oh! Oh, the after... that can be quite good. I know they say it's a sin, but I think God intended it to be pleasurable. If it weren't, we women would not be as amenable and then where would be be? Certainly without babies to give men, eh?"

"Hmm.. yes, I suppose so." Edith's gaze was speculative in my direction, but I could not determine what question lay unasked behind those eyes. She shook her head slightly, the long blond hair obscuring her face for a moment. "I must admit, Virtue, what I find hard to understand is... how exactly does it work? The books say his... member will become erect, but nothing about how it will..." Her cheeks flamed hotly. "How will it get toward my womb when it pointed the wrong way?" She gestured toward the floor.

My laugh came forth before I could stop myself. "Oh, milady. When a prick's stiff, it doesn't point down. Trust me, it works quite well and it all fits together nicely." A glance at the clock told me Sir would be wanting to retire shortly, and I ought to make my leave. I had no real desire to see, or hear, what happened between them tonight. I patted Edith's hand. "Relax, milady. The first time's the most difficult. Once you get past tonight, you'll see."

As I left, I encountered Sir in the hall. I knew, without looking, that we had an audience. I curtseyed, flicking my eyes quickly in the direction of the shadow that retreated even further into an alcove. "Good night, Sir."

"Good night, Virtue. I assume my wife has finished preparing for bed?" With his back turned to prying eyes, he mouthed the words, "Tomorrow night," at me.

"Yes, Sir," I nodded, agreeing to both the spoken and unspoken. It did not take a genius to know my Sir was feeling strained playing the genteel suitor, and would need relief shortly. I was all too happy to oblige. With a final dip of my head, I made my way back to the room I shared, shutting the door behind me. All the better not to hear them, an unfamiliar jealousy rising in my heart.

~~~

The next morning, Lady Lucille was the earliest to rise, and I went to assist her. She turned her back to me, pointing out the dress she'd selected where it lay on her bed. "So, it's done," she pronounced.

"It is."

Her eyes were narrow as she looked at me over her shoulder. "Are you jealous, Virtue? Afraid now that he has a lovely bride to keep him warm, he'll desire your company less?"

I yanked at her stays sharply, enjoying the way it pulled her off-balance, driving the breath from her. "And did you enjoy watching your brother consummate his vows to her? You above all should know the more things change, the more they stay as they are. He's already requested me for tonight. So she may be his wife, but we both know I’ve not lost his affections entirely." I lifted the heavy fabric, holding it to slide over Lady Lucille's head, working my way up the buttons along her spine. "What of you? Worried that the house will no longer require your guidance now that there’s a new Lady Sharpe?"

"I will always be mistress of Crimson Peak," she gritted as I tugged and straightened her dress into place.

"Of course you will," I placated. With an insolent look, I dropped her a curtsey. "I have to see if the new lady needs my assistance."

My rap on the bedchamber door was answered, after much waiting, by my Sir, his shirt untucked and open at the neck. "Ah, Virtue. I will assist my wife with her toilette this morning, thank you."

It stung a bit. She was still abed, and from his hasty dressing, she had not been alone. "Of course, Sir. I'll have someone send up breakfast later."

As I turned to leave, I felt a tug upon my skirt. I looked back, thinking I had snagged a nail, to see Sir's hand drop away quickly. "Stables," he said under his breath before retreating into the bedchamber, the door closing on the artificial smile he bestowed on her.

I went about my duties, sending up breakfast with one of the kitchen staff, not wanting to know what manner of amusement the new couple would be enjoying together, finally retreating to the stables early to escape the chattering gossips below stairs, and yet another retelling of the entire wedding day. I had no right to envy or jealousy, to pride, to hurt feelings, and yet, something that felt distinctly like rage had begun to well beneath my breast. The longer I dwelled indoors, the heavy and darker the sensation became, until it all but overwhelmed me. The stables were cool and quiet, naught but nickering horses and the occasional shuffle of hooves to interrupt my brooding.

After it grew dark, I found myself becoming impatient. Why had Sir sent me here if not to join me? I kicked at a stray lump of grass before settling onto a bench in a huff.

"What's this? Virtue in a temper?" I looked up to see Samson watching me, his arms crossed over his expansive chest as he leaned in a doorway. "I can help improve that mood, my girl." He leaned toward me. "Himself told me to wait here with ye... What do ye imagine he's got in mind?"

"I don't know."

The door to the stable opened, admitting the very man of whom we spoke. As he closed the door behind himself, he looked at us both. "The tack room, Samson. And bring several sturdy lengths of rope."

I was pulled against him, kissed fiercely until my lower lip split under the onslaught and I tasted blood. He pushed me away. "Regretfully, my dear, I can't take you this evening."

I inhaled, biting my tongue before swiping it over my cut lip, relishing the welling sting it brought. Of course. He needed an heir, which meant he needed to take care what fields he sowed and save his seed for the preferred one. I swallowed, nodding.

"Ah, not that look. I said I would not neglect you, and I have not so far, have I? Samson will just have to assist me from time to time, as I need." He pulled me toward the tack room, spinning me about as we entered, and shut the door behind us three.

"Strip," he commanded, his back to me as he examined the equipment along the wall. He turned back to me, a buggy whip dangling from his fingers. The idea sent a thrill through me, spurring me to disrobe faster. When my clothes lay in a pool on the floor, he directed Samson to trade him, rope for whip. With his own hands, my Sir bound my arms behind me, tying the end of the rope off to a hook on a high beam. If I strained or struggled, it pulled at my shoulders painfully, even more so when I was pushed to my knees. Deftly, he knotted my ankles to my thighs, weaving the rope about my leg in a complicated pattern that ended at the knee. I accepted the binding with as much patience as I could muster, enjoying the way Samson could not look away from me.

Finally, blessedly, the first blow came.

I hissed in a breath at the heavy sting along my shoulder, glancing up to see the whip in Sir's hand, the way it skittered as he shook it out for another strike. My body bowed as he cracked the leather on my back, my breasts, circling me on the floor as his blows landed. He whipped the soles of my feet, his face splitting into a thin, wicked smile as I squealed and struggled, only pulling the ropes higher and more taut about myself. The tip bit at my thighs, sparking white-hot pain that sent me writhing, unsure whether I wanted to escape or present myself for the next strike. On the next, the whip curled around my shoulder, the very tip lancing the tender skin under my arm near my breast. I screamed, agony overriding all sensibility, my vision going crimson before fading to gray. I barely felt the knife that cut me free, or the hand clamped along my nape. It was the tongue that pressed against mine that pulled me back, the whispered praise of my Sir against my lips as he lifted me to stand on trembling, unsteady legs.

"You took that so well, my girl," he beamed. His eyes radiated a light that bordered on mania. "Are you ready for your reward?"

Of course I was. I gasped into my Sir’s mouth as Samson thrust himself into me deeply. Though his was not the prick I desired most, my body welcomed the intrusion just the same. Had I believed that watching me whipped to welting would inflame Samson to a quick completion, I was quickly proved wrong. Each eager canting of my hips was met with stillness and his withdrawal from me.

“Patience, Virtue. Be a good girl for me…” Sir chided.

It was my breaking point. All that I have endured, especially of late, bore down on me in one great, overwhelming wave. I did something I have not, sworn not to, in far too many years to count: I sobbed. I hated that moment of fragility, of brokenness, and I hated them both for driving me to it. I fought, I screamed, the room around me blurred by tears and wild, seething rage. Violent stars erupted across my vision and I fell to the floor. Shocked, I looked up to see my Sir standing over me, his chest heaving, cravat askew.

There was a look in his eyes such as I’ve never seen: lust, madness, anger. He hauled me to my feet, shaking me as he did. I saw Samson curled on the floor near where I had fallen, his meaty hands still covering the manhood I had apparently damaged in my fit of temper. Sir’s hand about my throat hauled my face to his. Deep bloody scratches marred his cheek, oh his beautiful face, and I felt a mingled sense of pride and shame at the knowledge I had made them. Up close, his eyes seemed to swirl and darken, flooded with such dark humor as I felt…

The connection of us snapped, nearly as audible as thunder. He shoved me back to the table, tearing at my skirt and his trousers until he drove into me with a gasp. A fist at my nape hauled me upright, sealing our mouths together, his teeth returning my nails’ favor by sinking into my lower lip and calling forth my own blood.

I thought I had known his raw passion before, his dark nature, but I was introduced to its true depths that day. He barely paused in our rutting as Samson rose to his feet, shoving him away from us with a growl more animal than human, possession and fury overriding all. The hand that had shoved Samson aside closed around my throat, squeezing tighter each time I neared my own peak, shocking me away from it. Denied again and again, feeling my vision face into murk, I clawed and clutched at him, as much to shove him away and gain some blessed air as to pull him closer, to hurl myself off the edge and finally experience le petite morte, that beloved little death…

Instead, my Sir snarled, his breath hot on my face as he spat an invective I had rarely heard him use. My vision narrowed to a pinprick, filled only with his face, twisted, thin lips pulled back in a devil’s smile. He spilled himself inside me, withdrawing for the final spatter to land on the inside of my thighs and the dirt floor. He shoved me away, pulling his clothes to rights before retrieving a handkerchief and dabbing at the blood and sweat upon his cheek. His earlier passion seemed a raving of my imagination, the only evidence left now drying between my legs.

His demeanor was cold as the night air as he looked at me, then at Samson. “You’ve gotten too comfortable, Virtue, my dear. You’ve forgotten your place. What you receive is due to my benevolence toward you. You demand nothing. Until you remember that, you may stay out here in the barn. If Samson chooses to show you any comfort in that time, that’s at his discretion.”


End file.
